Malfoy's Mom Has Got It Going on
by Durriken
Summary: What happens when Harry gets caught peeping on a dare? Warning: very suggestive.


A/N: First off, shoutout to Shädbase for the pic that spurred this piece on and is now it's header pic, gave me an entirely new fondness for Narcissa. And second, I typed this entire thing on my phone. Since I can't write 'proper' smut to save my soul this here's a standalone chapter. Other than thaaaaat, enjoy!

Chapter Nex: Malfoy's Mom Has Got It Going On

* * *

 _Damn it, Ron…._

That was the line constantly running through Harry's head as he peeked from his hiding spot between a rack of clothing so dusty he could hear the moths buzzing about; his eyes were narrowed at the woman examining herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Under a corset, she was trying on robes, obviously a new set given the way her hands traced down her sides and over a pair of rather prominent hips.

 _Damn it, Ron…._

Now, _why_ was Harry hiding amongst clothes and stealing glances at this long-haired witch with the blonde streaks? Well, it all started with a single bet.

Coming into their fourth year at Hogwarts, also their fourteenth year of life, the inevitable urge to do something daring (and stupid) had grabbed Harry and Ron's logic in a chokehold. To wit, Ron bet Harry half his chocolate frog card collection if he managed to nick…well…a pair of knickers.

Normally, Harry would have dismissed the bet as foolhardy—add to it the nagging Hermione would drill them with once she eventually found out—but over the summer he had nursed a rather strong attraction for chocolate frog cards, even managing to amass some rare ones of wizards and witches he didn't even know existed—and Ron's collection was, for lack of a better word, _godly_. Having been part of the wizarding world since birth, it stood to reason that Ron's collection would trounce Harrys' by a country mile, so for Ron to bet _half_ his collection….

 _Damn it, Ron…._

He couldn't have been in his hiding spot for more than half an hour but it already felt like several hours had passed by, no doubt a symptom of nerves. They had chosen a relatively quiet shop within Diagon Alley, one that sold high price robes of various materials, for Harry to commence with operation: _nick the knickers._ The problem was, Harry didn't have the first clue on how to go about doing that and his mind raced from all the types of hell he would catch if he got caught (dragging Ron down with him, of course) to what he might see. As exhilarating as this bit of mischief was, he had low hopes of nicking something worthwhile as they had only seen the rich old fogey types shamble in and out during their brief recon of the store.

So never in a million years did it occur to Harry as he knelt between those musty racks of clearance-bin robes (which were still exorbitantly priced) that he would one day bear witness to Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Malfoy's mother, in the midst of hitching up an experimental pair of midnight satin black robes that looked more like lingerie than everyday garments. All at once, he felt sickened, repulsed, angered—just utterly filled with contempt for the mother of the boy who seemed to believe it his sworn destiny to harass Harry every day at Hogwarts. Just the sight of this abhorrent witch caused his stomach to curl….

And yet, as he silently watched her drag those lengthy fingers of hers up her thigh, no doubt determining the feel of the lacy stockings she had slipped on underneath her robes, there was something else Harry was feeling, something that confused him as much as it excited him….He knew he despised this woman for more than one reason from her detestable mistreatment of non-purebloods to how she spit vitriol at him and his friends whenever possible, but now he was starting to see her in a new light.

Literally.

Bathed in what little sunlight that managed to trickle down from the rafters above, her skin appeared to glow before his eyes, soft and—his nose twitched—very scented; she smelled surprisingly lovely, not at all like the pure dung that her attitude comprised of. That annoyed Harry more than he cared to admit, and he knew that when she first walked in is when he should have revealed himself, bet or no…but he didn't, remaining just as concealed as before.

A part of him, strangely enough…a part of him _wanted_ to see this, what she would do, what she would change into, how it would look on her figure…because as aghast as Harry was to admit it, Narcissa had an excellent shape, one that he understandably never noticed before having been blinded with immediate dislike. A regal face that seemed to ooze command and scorn in equal amounts, Narcissa had the aged yet refined air of a woman never to be crossed, and her neck was nicely slender. Harry could feel his eyes tracing that elegant curve down to her bosom, which was displaying an indecent amount of cleavage thanks to the push from her corset, more than enough to make Harry blush. He never paid attention to breast all that much before but hers…they bounced with her slightest movement and looked every bit as creamy as her skin. She had her back to the mirror, glancing over her shoulder to check her reflection and unknowingly providing Harry a good look at her barely covered front. From under the corset came the rest of her black silk robes, trailing to the ground…and unbuttoned. He first noticed her hips, how they protruded with a sensual flair and came around into a pair of rather thick thighs, thicker than he would have given the dignified matron credit for; he couldn't even see a gap for Merlin's sake.

And then, with a hard inhale, one that filled his nostrils with more of her captivating scent, he noticed it: the pair of purple panties hugging her hips for dear life. His heartbeat quickened, he almost felt lightheaded—but he was staring right at them, subconsciously tracing them with his eyes, noticing everything from the little pink bow on the front to the way they seemed to be stretched taut against her…

 _Thank you, Ron,_ he found himself thinking before instantly feeling sickened with himself. How could he think that? About _her_? About this dragon in witch's skin? Granted, this was a very voluptuous witch with very supple skin…but still! This was the mother of his most hated ene—

She had turned around, swirling up a cloud of dust, and in doing so promptly ended Harry's jumbled thought process. Everything about this woman, from the cherry red of her devious lipstick to the coke bottle figure he had been too daft to notice until now—it was all seemingly crafted to bring him to his knees morally, to ignore basic survival instinct and indulge himself in her eye-drawing presence for reasons that now far extended the reach of the bet that had brought him here in the first place. And the last bit of evidence Harry needed to be certain of that fact lie in what he was facing now: _that ass_.

Before this moment, he had never placed much value or interest in the rear-end of others given the general use for them…but Narcissa's had somehow just jumped to the top of his "must have" list, even ahead of a new broom for Quidditch. It wasn't so much as ginormous, more perfectly rounded, framed to an almost drool-worthy degree thanks to those robes. Harry could quite imagine himself bouncing a galleon off it; he could also imagine how those poor panties must feel having to accommodate that much ass…

 _Thank you, Ron._

There was no later feeling of regret following that thought. He meant every word and couldn't deny it, couldn't deny the longing to reach out and run his hands over her hips, to squeeze and fondle that rotund rear that was softly jiggling as Narcissa hefted her own breasts with a cold look of ascetic discernment, like she herself couldn't believe they were so big.

Good Lord, what was this witch doing…? Harry frantically wondered this and how much more he would be able to take before he crumbled like a cookie. There was a stiff ache in his knees—this century old hardwood floor was as unyielding as steel—but it paled in comparison to the raging, aching stiffness in his crotch. It was the best kind of pain he had ever felt in his short life, and it annoyed him that Malfoy's mother, of _all_ people, was the one to illicit such a feeling from him.

"Hrm"ing to herself, Harry watched as Narcissa lifted the sides of her robes, giving him an even greater view of her porcelain legs, of her thighs, almost lifting them high enough for him to finally see her pantyclad rump—but alas, just as the hem began to rise over that sumptuous curve, she dropped it, instilling a horrible sense of loss within Harry as the fabric fluttered almost teasingly.

"Mayhaps a bit too tight around the hips…" she murmured to herself yet the inside of the room was so silent that Harry heard her perfectly and mentally disagreed with a raging fury. She glided her hands from the waist down, giving her hips a healthy smack.

Harry twitched like he had been the one hit, his crotch giving an unusually strong throb that screwed his face up. Peeking through his lashes, Harry watched Narcissa glance at her reflection, up and down appraisingly, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Fortunately, this shade of black accentuates the color of my panties fairly well," she noted in that same demeaning drawl she used for everything, only this time, instead of imbuing Harry with the usual sense of loathing, all he wanted to do was hear her speak, hear that scathing tone ghost over his tingling ears. "I wonder…"

When she suddenly fell silent, Harry was left on pins and needles. She wondered…? Wondered what? If the color suited her? It did, it really did—it would be preposterous to think otherwise in his opinion.

Somewhat scowling, Narcissa pulled on the waistband of her underwear, stretching the delicate fabric, until releasing it with a meaty _snap_ that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Her hips were jostled ever so gently and Narcissa nodded.

"Not too tight, either. It would seem as if my slight weight gain has not been without its, ah…merits," she whispered, turning sideways in the mirror.

As she hooked two fingers of each hand under the curve of her rear, Harry thought his soul would slip into the afterlife when she began to bounce each robed cheek. Once set in motion, her curvaceous rump wobbled to and fro with a mind of its own, hypnotic and all consuming, leaving Harry with little else to do but watch and marvel. He didn't know why that part of her figure had such an alarmingly strong pull on his body and he honestly didn't put forth much effort in trying to find an answer.

"Oh, but Lucius does like to ridicule me for your size," she said, fixing her fleshy sitter with a withered glare that Harry had been nailed with numerous times in the past. "He knows how sensitive I am there but he won't touch you, will he? Not even a little smack or a pinch every now and again….I can't for the life of me imagine why that is…."

She wasn't the only one confused. Harry was beside himself with a righteous anger, furious beyond reason as to why Draco's father wasn't giving that rear the attention it readily deserved. Was he daft? Blind?

"What do you think, Potter?"

"I think he's bloody touched in the head, is what I think…."

"Mmm, yes, just a tad bit off, certainly, not to enjoy _this_ ," Narcissa mused coldly, bending forward in a rather risqué pose that prominently displayed her cleavage and pushed out her ass, causing the fabric to stretch tight around those bubbled mounds. "Would you enjoy this, Potter?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I—"

Wait.

Something had finally clicked in Harry's head with a terrible _clunk_.

Was she…had she talked to him? And had he actually answered back…? No, it…couldn't be, there was no way he could have slipped up like that. Slowly, Harry looked up into the mirror to see Narcissa's reflection staring right back at him.

His heart stopped, his blood ran cold.

He was dead.

 _Damn it, Ron…._

The look in Narcissa's blue eyes was one of contemptuous intrigue, like she was starting to grow impatient by his lack of an answer, and to seemingly punctuate this, she shifted her hips to the side, causing her ass to give a rhythmic sway. Harry's gaze followed helplessly.

"I'm simply going to assume with all the blood rushing from your head to elsewhere that you didn't hear me, so I'll ask again, Potter," she began staidly, only this time she turned, and kept turning until she was facing the musty rack of robes that concealed Harry. "Would you…enjoy this?"

The answer sprang to Harry's mind almost immediately but he couldn't speak it. Once again, she was fully facing him and, with her robe still unfastened below her corset, she was once again giving him an unbridled eyeful of those thick, pale thighs and her hugging purple panties. That throbbing down below in his crotch was growing more intense by the second, his pupils beginning to quiver with a need that he still didn't quite understand.

"Well?"

It was the snap in her tone that brought Harry out of his reverie. She sounded every bit as demanding and snide as ever, and Harry knew that he should have felt the customary contempt for her…but he didn't. He couldn't. Hearing that tone was doing wonderfully terrible things to his wellbeing.

The robes on either side of him were suddenly pushed aside with a flapping force, leaving him exposed like a deer in the headlights. Narcissa had her wand out, lightly tapping it against the hem of her stockings.

"There, no more hiding. We must learn to be more open about things, Potter," she said evenly, tucking that slender strip of magical wood down her stocking. "Case in point…what would everyone think if they knew you, the prodigal boy wizard, were spying on a public figure like me whilst in such a state? Why, I daresay not even Dumbledore's magic would be able to get you out of this one…."

Her manner of speech was thoughtful, considering the bevy of options available to her, all of which Harry knew would not bode well for him—but the true fear of those outcomes couldn't reach home over the brazen excitement coursing through his veins. He lowered his head, cheeks ablaze.

"I…I…" he stammered, not even sure of what he could say at this point.

"You-you enjoy what you've seen thus far," said Narcissa, mocking his stutter. "Admit it, boy, and we'll see where I stand."

It was a struggle to swallowed with this throat drier than sandpaper but Harry pushed through it, managing a weak, "Y-yes…."

Something of a cruel grin began to spread through Narcissa's lips at his admittance and she sighed. "Naughty boy," she whispered scoldingly and Harry grunted at the throb her words brought about. "You know full well that I am Draco's mother, wife to Lucius Malfoy…and yet here you are, eyes so full of lust you can hardly look at me."

Sweat was pebbling Harry's forehead now. Everything she said was undeniably true and he knew it.

" _Look at me_ ," Narcissa commanded and Harry's head rose so fast that his neck cracked. "There's a good boy. Now, during the times we've met in the past, if memory serves me right, I can't say that those occasions were very well-received or even amicable…so why are you just now deciding to show this depraved side of yourself?"

She had just insulted him without even so much as a pause or change in tone, without a single care for his feelings—and his heart flickered accordingly.

"It's…it was a, uh…mostly because of a bet," he started carefully, unaware that his eyes were in the process of trailing from the top of her head, over her bursting cleavage, past the corset, and down her lithe legs, ending on her feet concealed by those stockings. Even still, he could make out her toes and the candy-red nail polish that perfectly matched her lipstick. "I…it was, um…uhhhhh…." And just like that, he was sidetracked, lost in a sea of lecherous thoughts….

Narcissa muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Hopeless" before giving the foot he was so focused on a good stomp on the wooden floor. When Harry blinked, surprised to find he had drifted off, she motioned for him to focus on her face, which he did after getting caught up on her bust for a few seconds. "Concentrate, Potter. You were saying…?"

It took a few tries but Harry eventually managed to reveal the bet he was under and the prize he desperately wanted. When he finished, lapsing into an embarrassed silence, he fully expected Narcissa to bind him up and drag him before a wizarding court or something, expose his 'depraved' act for everyone to see….

That's what he expected.

What he _didn't_ expect, however, was for Narcissa to dig her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and give a few teasing tugs.

"Nick the knickers…what a childish name. You want my panties, Potter," she clarified bluntly and Harry, too ashamed to speak, only nodded. "Which of you two wants them exactly? You or the Weasely?"

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to say Ron, as that would have been the truth considering it was that red-haired devil who picked what Harry had to do in the first place, but another truth came to Harry just then, a truth that only in the moment did he realize was spot on, and he said, "Me. It was…it's just me. I want them."

Something flashed in Narcissa's eyes, something that Harry could not place. She continued to pull on her panties, each tug having an almost physical pull on Harry as well. "These are one of my favorite pairs, I'll have you know, Potter, and I've worn them all throughout the day," she said with an imperious little scoff. "It's been so hot out…there's no doubt my scent has seeped deeply into the fabric—"

Instinctively, Harry flared his nostrils.

"—and what would you do with them if they would up in your possession?"

Her question brought forth so many varied answers that not only couldn't Harry pick one to give her, but he was shocked by the filthy nature of them all. It probably would have been easier to ask what he _wouldn't_ have done.

His stuttering, however, seemed to be the exact response Narcissa was expecting because she let the band snap back into place and made a beckoning motion with her finger. "Very well. Come here, Potter."

If Harry wasn't one-hundred percent positive that he had never been put under the _Imperius Curse_ , he would swear it felt something like this: blearily, happily willing to obey any spoken order, even one given by someone you previously found to be as revolting as a roach in your food, because he all too quickly stood and approached Narcissa. She was taller than him by at least a foot and up close like this his poor nose was all but throttled by her captivating scent. She smelled sweet yet there were faint traces of sweat here and there. She leered down her nose at him, her mouth a tight line of dislike, same as it ever was, then reached out and placed a single finger on his head.

She added the slightest bit of pressure and Harry wordlessly heeded it, dropping slowly to his knees with the tip of his nose brushing her cleavage and trailing down the front of her corset.

When he at last thudded to the floor, another scent had capsized the one before it. This one was very heady, musky and thick and rousing, it set fire to Harry's brain and sent his heart into a speedrun; he had never smelled anything like it and flared his nostrils again, inhaling as deeply as he could of it. Every exhale was a shudder before he filled his lungs again like it was his first time breathing.

"Look at you," he heard Narcissa chide, yet she sounded miles away, "to find pleasure in such a thing…you really are just a naughty boy, aren't you, Potter? Do my panties smell that good?"

 _Panties—whu…?_

His eyes sprang open, having lulled closed in his stupor, and saw that his face was almost planted between her thighs, that his face was hovering dangerously close to her knickers; the tip of his nose just barely brushed against the concealing satin fabric and he had to struggle to suppress a groan.

Oddly enough, when his nose _did_ graze her, Harry was quick to notice the way Narcissa twitched, if only slightly….

"Do you like how they smell?" she asked him royally.

Numbly, Harry nodded—"Very"—then tossed caution to the wind and shoved his face in-between her legs, jamming his nose against those fragrant panties he was there to nick and inhaling with such force that his nostrils stung.

There was no denying the tremor that shook Narcissa this time, nor the utterly sexy moan that issued from her mouth as Harry dug deeper with his face, glasses be damned, his sniffs growing doggish in nature. He was hooked on the best kind of drug, the hunger-inducing aroma growing more pronounced behind Narcissa's panties as she stood there, motionless but for the occasional twitch or wince.

The pain in Harry's crotch was paramount, throbbing against his jeans and begging to be set free, but he was too occupied gripping Narcissa by the thighs to pay it any mind. A wet spot was starting to grow against his nose and without even a second thought, Harry extended his tongue, dragging it roughly, hungrily, over the front of those treasured purple panties.

The moisture he managed to gather on his tongue was bittersweet in the best way, succulent while a tad bit salty; it sent his tastebuds into a frenzy of desire and he eagerly dove back for a second lick only to be stopped when something forcefully met his forehead.

It was a palm. Narcissa's palm. She was glaring down at him over her breast, the look in her eyes one of cold contempt, yet there was no hiding the hue of red radiating from her cheeks. "It would seem…that someone needs a lesson…in restraint," she said and Harry was shocked to hear she sounded slightly out of breath. "Allowing yourself to fall prey to such base instincts, Potter, how shameful…."

Harry was feeling a lot of things as he knelt there, positively enraptured by everything about this normally abhorrent witch, but shame was definitely not one of them. He continued to clutch her soft, malleable thighs, chest heaving, mind still in a fog over her smell.

" _You_ make me this way," Harry blurted out, and it was all too clear by the way his eyes widened that he hadn't meant to say that at all.

A glimmer of surprise ran over Narcissa's regal features before slowly settling into that of a lioness who had just cornered a very toothsome bit of prey. Harry swallowed, quite sure who the 'prey' happened to be in this scenario.

"Do my ears deceive me or are you trying to say that _I_ am responsible for your lack of self-control?" she questioned scathingly, flourishing a hand that she placed over her chest. "Are you insinuating that it is my figure that has somehow managed to fill you with these barbaric impulses? Is that it, Potter?"

By the glorious beard on Dumbledore's face, Harry knew he would be kicking himself in the morning for this but, "Yes. I…you're right…that's exactly it."

Harry almost lost his balance when Narcissa shifted ever so slightly to bump him with her hip. He flailed, caught himself, and watched in confusion as she began to do up the three buttons of her robe, hiding the entirety of her lower half from view. He didn't have time to feel forlorn when she righted herself, fixing him with a debonair little smirk.

"Honesty deserves a reward, Potter. They are yours," she proclaimed.

Stumped, Harry blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't…what's mine?"

"Hm. You may well be the Boy Who Lived but you are most certainly not the Boy With Sense," she hissed, the insult slithering around Harry's ears, and she pointed down, between her legs. "My panties that you seem obsessed with—you wanted them, correct? For your silly bet? You may take them."

Again, Harry blinked. In truth, somewhere betwixt being nose-deep in her crotch (a moment his brain was still trying process) and wondering how such a verbally foul woman could have such control over him without the use of a spell, Harry had all but forgotten about the bet, and the cards, and Ron—all of it, really.

When comprehension dawned over his face, Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Daft boy, you are," she said, and his cheeks glowed, "though I suppose that's not necessarily a bad thing," she added in softer tones. "So yes, you may have them…under two conditions."

Anything short of shaking hands with her intolerable excuse for a son, Draco, was a-okay in Harry's mind. He could still taste her on his tongue, in his nose…that tangy effluvium that erected the tent he was pitching in his pants.

"And they are…?"

"One, by taking them you agree that every summer break before returning to Hogwarts, you will meet me back here, in this same shop, in this same room," she declared. "Do you agree to this?"

Hesitantly, Harry nodded.

"Good boy. And second, if you want them…you'll have to pull them off me," Narcissa cooed, turning around and placing her palms flat against the mirror; she bent forward, putting an arch in her back that put her rear on display, joined her legs together, and got on her tippy toes in wait, tossing a seductive glare over her shoulder. "If you think you can, that is."

This witch had to be the devil. That was the only way Harry could sensibly reason why she had so much command over him. He could say no—a part of him _knew_ he should say no—but an even greater part was salivating at the sight of her ass, how each cheek was so deliciously plump, how it was pointed directly at him.

"Well? I haven't got all day, Potter—I _am_ supposed to be shopping…" she pointed out, and she gave her rear a playful wiggle.

Moving proved difficult with the 'issue' still raging in his pants but Harry would be _damned_ if that stopped him. He awkwardly shuffled toward the witch on his knees until he was eye-level with the massive twin peaks that made up her ass. It was all too clear to see that her silk robe was being stretched to its fullest here, struggling valiantly to keep all that booty contained. The outline of it had Harry mesmerized—and he nearly jumped out of his skin when she gave it another bounce.

"You seem to be stuck, Potter," she mused, slowly shifting her weight from foot to foot, sending her backside into an almost hypnotic sway. "Just a few moments ago you had the flair of someone who knew what they were do—"

The rest of Narcissa's words slurred into a pleasurable sigh when Harry inched closer, allowing his lust to commandeer his body again, and trailed his bottom lip over the expansive curve of her ass, causing the robe to hike up her thighs. He expected her to be soft, obviously, but the warmth radiating from her was another story—as was the scent that seemed to emanate from the deep divide where the material was pulled tightest. It was vastly different from the one behind her panties…maybe more bold, definitely stronger….Harry was starting to feel lightheaded as he planted a kiss on her right cheek, feeling the heated flesh there give under the almost loving caress of his lips.

Again, Narcissa seemed to purr out her approval, continuing to shift comfortably from left to right. "Mmmm, do be careful back there, Potter," she cautioned seconds before Harry delivered a rather sloppy kiss to the other cheek, "you—mmph…you wouldn't want to get hooked on me…"

As far as Harry was concerned, that ship had sailed a long time ago despite red flags at every instance…and that bit of realization was all Harry needed for him to plant his face directly into that large canyon of a crack and inhale like it was his only source of oxygen.

 _Thank you, Ron._

At once, Harry felt Narcissa seize up, her plump asscheeks squeezing against his head as if trying to hold him there—and he was perfectly okay with that, marveling at how deep his nose dug into her slightly moist and sweaty crack, no doubt the aftermath of so much posing and posturing. What he inhaled was definitely—for lack of a better word— _dirty_ but it wasn't the kind of dirty that disgusted him, which up until now he thought was the only kind that existed; no, this dirty was…sexy? Erotic? Was that the word? Harry wasn't sure, he only knew he didn't want to stop.

Hands clenched against the mirror, Narcissa bit into her bottom lip, a series of shudders racing down the curve in her back. She could feel every greedy breath Harry took against her, she could feel his desperation for more of her natural musk in the way he continually pushed himself into her ass…

"What a voracious little animal you are," she grunted, getting as far onto her toes as possible to give him all the access he needed, "to be digging into my posterior like it's your favorite snack…."

Now gripping the witch before him by the back of her thighs, Harry barely caught a word she said; he was too enraptured by the sensation of actually having his face sandwiched between a woman's ass. Narcissa's had the perfect balance of fat and muscle, supple and soft yet firm and tone; she was routinely clenching her cheeks every few seconds, igniting that irresistible odor to new heights.

In the back of his clouded mind, Harry knew where he was headed, what he was searching for with his rabid huffing…and the thought alone should have been enough to deter him—after all, he had never even looked at a female's butt with such wayward thoughts in the past—but now…and with Narcissa Malfoy of all people…he wanted to do it, he wanted to so badly….

"Nnnh…" The sound of Narcissa's pleasured groans met Harry's ears, spurring him on. "Are you quite sure you want to keep going, Potter?" she questioned heavily, her shoulders trembling. "You must know where you're heading… Don't you f-nnnmph…find such a thing repulsive? Surely you must…."

Harry's mouth was open, exhaling heated breaths between Narcissa's cheeks while his nose inhaled. Despite her futile warning, he redoubled his efforts, his hands subconsciously roaming up her thighs to palm her ass outright, squeezing and kneading it like dough. The fabric was trying its best to keep him out but her scent was getting more intense the further he moved up the innermost reaches of her crevice.

"I've never had someone so eager to partake of _that_ area before," Narcissa revealed with a teasing grin as she glanced back at the boy indulging himself in all the ways over her rump, "and to think that it would be you, Potter, of all people to be so enamored by me…that the Boy Who lived would one day want to smell my delicate ass."

In response to the sheer bluntness of her lewd statement, Harry delivered an almost predatorial squeeze to her rear, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh there. When Narcissa groaned out loud, he did it again, forcefully, hoping to leave a set of handprints over this ass that he weirdly felt was his now. After all, if her husband was too mental to worship this derriere like it deserved then Harry would gladly make doing so his duty.

"Th-there," Narcissa suddenly gasped, sounding breathless for once, and Harry knew why.

He had finally found it, where that saliva-inducing, sweat-suffused aroma was at its most potent: her tight little pucker. He couldn't see it but even through the layers of robe and her panties, he could feel it tense shyly under his nose….

 _Thank you, Ron._

If someone had told Harry that in his fourteenth year of life he would not only be face deep in the fragrant, tangy ass of the mother of his most loathed enemy, teasingly caressing her with his nose, but enjoy it immensely, Harry would have laughed and thought them mad.

Or…maybe _he_ was the mad one in this situation?

Frenetically, he took a long whiff off Narcissa's most embarrassing place, causing the wealthy witch to rise up further on her toes.

 _No_ , he thought dreamily, he was definitely sane. Those who would turn away this moment, _they_ were the mad ones. Especially now, when she was quivering nonstop, pinching his nose between her cheeks as he continued to nuzzle against her. He knew the reason behind Narcissa's prolonged silence, why she was reduced to merely twitching and hiking up her rear whenever he delivered a particularly forceful sniff….She was wondering, wondering and waiting to see if he would commit to the very act that he was furiously debating over in his head.

It was crazy to even consider doing it…was what he would have thought prior to miraculously getting as far as he was now, greedily gripping palmfuls of a wealthy witch's backside with his nose planted squarely against her anus, huffing the slightly sour yet intoxicating air wafting between her cheeks. The act was disgusting, downright perverted, and yet…he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. She had utter control over him without the use of magic or curses….

"If you do it, Potter…" Narcissa began, arching her back further and slowly spreading her legs, "then I'll take that to mean you're serious…and when we meet again next year, you may well find yourself with more of this body to explore since you love it so."

Harry wasn't quite sure if 'love' was the proper word to describe his feelings towards her figure, mostly because he couldn't tell if it was just her figure he was obsessed with, or her altogether—not that that conundrum lasted long in his mind once she began to spread her legs. The motion was so sensual and smooth, the way her top half lowered as if she already knew he was going to give in…

Something within Harry that had been fighting to remain in control and guide him with some semblance of dignity finally crumbled and he relinquished his hold over her rump. His touch wasn't missed for longer than a second before he reached under her robes causing Narcissa to quirk an eyebrow at the way his fingers tip-tapped up her thighs.

"What are you—?" she started.

"Tell me," Harry muttered throatily, hooking his forefingers around the band of her panties. Slowly, teasingly, he began to slide them down her legs. He stared down at the wide expanse of her delectable rump, now only covered by the flimsy satin fabric of her robe; that sweet ambrosial scent had grown noticeable stronger without her panties in the way and his heart fluttered. "Tell me what you want me to do, Mrs Narcissa…."

Narcissa felt the cool breeze ghosting between her thighs by the time he had pulled her underwear down to her knees. There was no doubt her scent had amplified, even she could catch subtle hints of her own arousal.

A moment of silence passed, then, "Kiss it…."

Something dripped from that stiffness in Harry's pants on her command, droplets of something sticky that he felt stain his boxers. He knew what that was and winced through it, remaining steadfast. If she got to enjoy herself, then so would he.

"Kiss…what? I need specifics, ma'am. After all, I'm not the Boy With Sense, remember?" Harry chided and he blew a gust of wind over her backside, taking some joy in the way she twitched.

"Of course I do," Narcissa said after composing herself, almost with something of an impatient whine to her voice.

"Then tell me exactly what you want me to do, whether it be a kiss…or more…."

There was no doubt that Narcissa's teasing methods were beginning to rub off on Harry but at the moment she was far too turned on to correct the boy of his position and instead gave her ass a forceful bounce. " _Eat it_ , Potter," she repeated lustily, "I want you to devour my rear like it's the last meal you'll ever have."

And he did. Nose-first, Harry dove, quickly finding that puckered bud. The moment he pressed his lips to it, Narcissa threw her head back, hair flying, and gave a guttural groan, her legs convulsing and threatening to collapse. It only took a second for Harry to realize that one kiss was nowhere near enough and began peppering her quivering anus with more, each one eliciting a soft cry from Narcissa; he also discovered that even though her robe kept him from making completely contact, it was flimsy enough to allow him to feel every tasty wrinkle her sensitive bud had to offer and gather a flavor, one that he found most pleasing. He kissed her ass like she commanded him to, passionately making out with the dirtiest part of her body like he would perish without it.

Narcissa was trying in vain to speak but her every time she opened her lips a surprised squeak or groan proceeded all else until she just gave up, succumbing to the oral attack was waging against her rump. She felt everything from the quick little pecks to the long, drawn out kisses that had her pawing at the window she was leaning on—

"F-fuck," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Utterly drunk off the moment, Harry pressed his lips to Narcissa's anus and sucked, desperate to acquire more of that bittersweet zest. He wasn't prepared for when Narcissa yelped and her legs buckled, bringing the noble witch to her knees with a dull _thud_. The abrupt shift in position didn't deter Harry in the slightest and he merely adjusted himself, bending lower and continuing to shower her rump with suckling kisses, brazenly spreading her cheeks to lavish her inner walls with his tongue. Narcissa's entire body was convulsing to the point where he had to firmly grip her thighs to hold her still—

"Congra- _anh_! …Congratulations, Potter," she gasped seconds later, cheeks flushed and straggles of hair hanging in her face. "You…you made me—you—" Narcissa pouted, this stuttering of hers something she was not at all pleased with, but Harry was mercilessly alternating between kissing her naughty hole like a lover and slurping at it. She narrowed her cold blue eyes at the entranced boy in the reflection. "G-give it a rest back there, nnph…."

Deciding to do the exact opposite, Harry dipped his head, extending his tongue as far as it would go and licked up the entire length of her crack, slathering it with his hot saliva. For the most part, all he caught was robe but the taste of her was there in potent undertones and he made sure to hold her gaze in the mirror's reflection, watching as she bit on a finger. "So I really made you…? Wow," he marveled, continuing to slide her panties down her calves. "I was wondering—I mean, I saw your toes curl but I didn't know—"

"Well. Now you do," Narcissa replied crisply, lifting one foot out of her underwear and then the other, making sure to flick Harry over the nose with her big toe.

"Hey!" he exclaimed.

"Oh hush, Potter—you deserve it," she snapped haughtily, facing away from him to fasten her robe. "Attacking a noble witch such as I like that…you've some nerve, you know that?"

There was something highly comical in the way Narcissa still clung to her 'better than thou' attitude even after literally having Harry kiss her ass—he felt that the previously erected bridges of stature between them had been torn asunder mighty nicely—but he wasn't about to say anything against it, not while that distinct flavor still jostled his tastebuds about.

She spun back around a few moments later, clothed as normal as one could be sans their undergarments and with one hand on her hip. "Well?" she said when all Harry seemed to do was glance her up and down in a daze.

"Well what?" he repeated, hardly aware that he was thumbing over her panties.

Narcissa sighed with a brow-crumpling frown. "Did you like it?" she pressed, indicating to behind her with a single finger and Harry blinked.

"Ohhhh," he said, causing her to give a pitying 'tsk'. "Of course I did, Mrs. Narcissa. Didn't think I would but—you know, it was odd, though…I didn't know that…well, that _back there_ could taste so…so…"

"Delicious?" Narcissa offered, a coy smile spreading through her lips.

"Y-yeah, uh…that."

"You loved the taste of my ass, boy. It's okay, you can admit it; the way you savagely kissed and licked and sucked already proves as much," she said loftily, and Harry could feel his cheeks beginning to glow. "Oh, don't be embarrassed, it's only natural that my everything would entice you—even _back there_ as you put it, Potter. Though I must say, you have quite the experienced tongue for one so young."

"Er, thanks."

"No, no, the pleasure's all mine," she corrected him with sultry drawl, tilting a hip, "because unfortunately for you, I think I've become rather fond of that tongue of yours. One might even say addicted," she chuckled, "and I do believe that I wish to put it to work elsewhere…."

Harry swallowed, feeling a quick tingle surge through his groin, and he remained still as a statue when she lifted a leg and he felt her toes underneath his chin, slowly lifting his head to look her in the face. That carnivorous smile of hers did nothing to settle his heart.

"My pheromones obviously ignite whatever olfactory-based fetish you possess, Potter, so we'll be exploring that next year," she declared, leaving no room for debate. "As it stands, we've wasted enough time in here together. We wouldn't want to give our significant parties reason to come snooping, would we?"

As best he could, Harry shook his head.

"Good boy. Now, off you go—and don't forget, Potter. Same time, same place, next year," Narcissa reminded him, and when she lowered her foot, she made sure it drifted over the concealed bulge in his pants, relishing the groan that escaped him.

* * *

"So how'd it go?" asked Ron excitedly after Harry had caught back up with him in Flourish and Blotts. "Did you get 'em?"

Pretending to be immersed in a book that contained spells of such level that only Hermione could possibly decipher them, Harry shook his head. "Um, no, I…no one really came in, I guess we picked the wrong store."

Ron looked suspicious, closing a copy of ' _What Does Your Wand Say About You?'_ and placing it back on the shelf. "Are you sure? You were in there for an awfully long time—almost two hours, mate."

Something rubbery leapt into Harry's throat. Had it really been that long? "Well, you know, I didn't want to come back empty-handed, did I? Half your card collection was at stake, I wanted to play the waiting game, but it backfired," he said, trying to sounded disappointed at the end.

That seemed to convince Ron and he gave a victorious grin, puffing out his chest. "Yup! That's half a collection you'll not be seeing," he gloated with a laugh that earned the both of them reproachful stares from nearby customers, and he clapped Harry over the back, "but hey, you get points for trying, Harry, you definitely get points!"

As Ron proceeded down the aisle, Harry watched him go, suddenly smiling the widest he had ever smiled, and he reached down to push back in the purple panties that had been jostled out of his pocket by Ron's back pat.

"Oh, yeah, I got points all right...points and panties," he corrected merrily, shelving his own book and following after.


End file.
